Page 27 of The Last Chance
“Il te regarde comme s’il mourait de faim.”
“In English, Eloise. Please tell me. I’m not sure how long I can endure his odd silences.”
Eloise made the sign of the cross. “They say he looks at you like he is starving. That is why they call you Miss Scrumptious.”
“Starving?” Joanna couldn’t catch her breath. She had seen indifference and annoyance in Mr Chance’s dark eyes. The occasional flash of kindness. Never anything more.
“They say he wants you.”
“Mr Chance? Are we speaking about the same gentleman?”
“He denies it and curses them all to the devil, but it is there in his eyes if you know where to look.” Eloise reached for Joanna’s hand. “He will send you away if he knows I have told you. He will do everything possible to make you despise him. Please, do not speak of this to anyone.”
“I give you my word this will be our secret,” she said, her legs shaking from this bolt from the blue. “You must trust me. I would never break a vow.”
His behaviour last night made sense now. He was hiding, hiding the fact he was attracted to her. It explained his odd reaction in the carriage, and why he refused to let her accept Gabriel’s help, a man who had already proposed marriage.
Joanna took a moment to consider her own feelings. The news did not have her reaching for her valise, desperate to flee. She didn’t hug herself, scared to walk the corridors of Fortune’s Den. Mr Chance would do the honourable thing and keep his distance. And yet she longed to probe his mind and learn more about him.
There was no better time than the present.
“I’ll not be late for the meeting and will eat in the dining room,” she said, keen to observe Mr Chance now she was armed with this enlightening information. “I’ll have tea and one of Baptiste’s delicious pastries.”
“Mr Chance ordered eggs and ham and toast for you.”
“Give it to Sigmund. He has the appetite of a heathen army. He will ensure nothing goes to waste this morning.”
Joanna reassured Eloise for a final time, then tidied her hair and hurried downstairs to join the family meeting in the dining room.
If Mr Chance was surprised to see her, he gave no indication. He sat at the head of the table, wearing a black waistcoat moulded to his torso, observing her over the rim of his coffee cup.
Though her heart pounded, Joanna smiled when the Chance brothers and their wives turned towards her. “Good morning. Sorry I’m late.”
Everyone grinned and welcomed her, except for Mr Chance. Like a skilled actor on the King’s stage, he held the usual steely look in his eyes.
“Have you eaten?” he said, the remark a veiled reprimand. “We have a busy day ahead of us. I want to visit Parker and the Fitzpatricks. There’ll be no time to stop en route. I’ll not have crumbs in the carriage.”
He didn’t care about crumbs, though seemed to be averse to the sound of her licking her lips.
Everyone looked at her, anticipating her reply.
“May I sit here?” Joanna gestured to the chair opposite Mr Chance, the seat traditionally reserved for the mistress of the house, eager to witness every nuance, any hint his thoughts and actions were misaligned. She sat before he demanded she occupy the space beside his brother, Christian.
Eloise arrived with tea and two petite pastries. “I have the breakfast you ordered, madame.” The poor woman’s hand shook as she lifted the teapot off the silver tray, though she did not look Mr Chance’s way.
“Thank you, Eloise.”
Eloise took an order for more beverages.
“Are there more pastries?” Aramis asked, his eyes alight with mischief. “Bring what you have. I think we would all agree they look scrumptious.”
Christian chuckled. “So scrumptious, Aaron must be eager to try one. I know sweet things are a real test of his restraint.”
Aaron Chance firmed his jaw. “Miss Lovelace, perhaps now you understand why I asked you to eat before the meeting. My brothers will spend the next hour devouring the contents of the pantry.”
“Oh. I thought it was because you hate me licking my lips and humming with pleasure. Baptiste’s pastries really are the best I’ve ever tasted.”
He held an indifferent expression. “If you want to eat like an animal, I suggest you dine with Mrs Wilcox, the zoological expert of Mayfair. She keeps a menagerie of feral beasts in her garden.”
